Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned
by BetweenTheShadowLines
Summary: When Hermione is taken by deatheaters her life begins to unravel and a certain professor comes to help, but the memories of what happened plague her dreams and transform her into someone seeking revenge and wanting something more... AU
1. Fury

**Hello my beloved readers, this is my first fanfiction ever! I hope you like it! Please feel free to comment and give me advice; tell me what you would like to happen, what you think is going to happen, whatever, I love all messages!**

**Please be aware that this is probably going to be rated mature for violence and *cough* "other" scenes (which will probably take place in later chapters, I will tell you when they are so can avoid them if you want), so take the appropriate cautionary measures and leave if you do not feel comfortable, but if you do please stick around and enjoy the show!**

**Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned**

**Chapter 1: Fury**

"**_Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." -William Congreve_**

She was in trouble. _Big Trouble._ Hermione gazed over the scene before her. Flames danced in the center pyre, while cloaked figures with steely masks emerged out of the darkness that had not been touched by the fire's emanating light, gathering in a circle, soaking up the fire's natural energy, waiting for the others. Deatheaters. She had almost given up in believing in such things anymore. After Voldemort's death at the hands of Harry, everyone had thought that these secret meetings would be something to plague wizarding history books for the rest of time, not quite ready to appear in reality so suddenly once again. But she had known better.

"_After all_," she thought, "_evil doesn't die so easily_."

They had told her she was paranoid, that it was simply not something to worry about anymore. Even Ron and Harry thought it was complete nonsense, which was why, out of the dozens of times she had helped Ron out with his homework and Harry with removal from the difficult situations he constantly got himself into, they were not here helping her out tonight, not to mention the fact that she hadn't even told them. "_How very Slytherein of you, keeping secrets", _she thought to herself. Despite the criticism she had received from her friends, she still felt like something just wasn't right, and so with her Griffindor sense of curiosity and courage she planned to find out exactly what it was.

And now her curiosity killed the cat. She was stuck here bordering the edge of the Forbidden Forest wondering which was safer: to head back into the mysterious forest with who knows what could be lurking, looking for a tasty midnight snack, or to stay here with the Death Eaters, hearing their gruesome plans for revenge on her and her friends and possibly found and captured. She suppressed the urge to shudder. _Midnight snack it is then_, she thought. _I should report to Dumbledore right away anyway, _she thought, as she turned to retreat home. She focused on the twisting roots that tripped her shoes, not noticing the cloaked figure in front of her. _Hello, Miss Granger,_ it spoke. There was no time to see who it was as her head snapped back while the figure dragged her backwards by her hair towards the flames as she struggled.

Tears stung at her eyes as she was flung inches from the hungry heat of the flames. She didn't dare move from her place on the ground. What was going to happen to her now? Whatever would happen next, it wouldn't be pleasant. She didn't want to think about the horrible things that they could do to her. Death was her best option at this point, and by the way several of the deatheaters were looking at her, they had something very different in mind…She shivered uncontrollably as a tear dropped through the curtain of her hair silently onto the grass. The deatheater laughed and moved closer to her, grabbing another fistful of hair, wrenching up her face to look him in the eye, _Girly, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. _He smirked and then the blackness surrounded her.

The next day she had woken up face pressed against a soft down feather pillow and chained to the mahogany four-poster bed with thick ropes, charmed to be unbreakable. _A perfect balance of opulence and cruelty, _she thought, _which could only belong to Lucius Malfoy._

The devil himself walked into the room with his typical pureblood swagger. _Good morning, Mudblood. _He called patronizingly from the foot of the bed, _Sleep well? _She stretched her body to try to kick him, but he dodged it easily. _Feisty, hmm? Out to seek your revenge so soon? But the party has even begun yet! _He called in mock surprise, amusement shining in his eyes; she could only glare at him for he kept his distance. _Oh, don't look at me like that in disappointment; you'll have your time too. After all, tonight's festivities are all in your honor. I hope you're as excited as I am, _He called to her as he left the room for her to wait.

She waited. And waited. And waited. And as the day stretched until up to high noon and down to the tangerine colored dusk that patterned itself across the wall through the ivory window curtains, the silence grew until it became a constant hum that kept in time with her heart beat. She was uncomfortable, scared and _angry. _ _Angry, _she thought,_ was once a simple word, frustration at a particularly hard potions experiment. _Now a new word bubbled underneath the surface of her skin, its acidic definition nibbling at her resolve to stay calm, to wait out the storm, the knowledge that someone would notice she was gone eventually and come to find her. By the time night had fallen, her resolve had fallen too, it was gone, eaten by something she could only call _fury. _


	2. Regret

She awoke to darkness of night and three cloaked figures in the doorway. _Take her, _a voice said as one figure left the room. She recognized it as Lucius. The other two hoisted her off the bed with ease after mumbling a spell that released the charmed ropes. They shoved her into the hall, grabbing her arms firmly with their grubby, calloused hands, guiding her down what she guessed was a hall. She winced, she was sure they would leave bruises. Darkness cloaked everything and she wondered how they could see. They descended down stone steps, their footfalls echoing off the walls, and everything became colder. She shuddered, her breath leaving a wisp of mist in the air. Suddenly they stopped, as one of the brute guards reached around her to open a heavy, wooden door. It creaked open and flooded her eyes with light. She tumbled as they pushed in her inside.

She landed roughly, scrapping her hands and knees on the slate floor in a pool of moonlight, next to a man who lay motionless and stinking. She scampered away from the body as it whimpered. She hadn't noticed she had gotten close to the dark edges of the room where the deatheaters stood.

"_You know", _She stilled as Lucius whispered in her ear, "_he was the one who led you here. He was the one who led you here to pay as penance for his own crimes", _he continued as his breath traced its way down her neck to her shoulders.

She shuddered again. "_Don't you think he should pay? Don't you think he should pay for the lives he took from your friends in the war? For your family he took in the war?"_

The half dead man looked at her now with pleading eyes; she could not see him through the fury that clouded them. "_Don't you think he should suffer the same fate? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,"_ he said as he placed a wand in her hands, "_Think of all the pain he caused them, their screams for help, their pleas as he took each of their lives, while he laughed at them in pity"._

Hermione stood, the fire pooling beneath her skin, drowning out someone's muffled words as they spoke to her. The man's eyes still pleaded, as he whispered a silent _No. _She was standing over him now, smiling as she saw his fear. _Too bad, _she said, _Crucio. _ He screamed.

_What have I done? _She whispered to herself, lying over the broken body of the man she had killed only a few moments ago, _what have I done now? _Yes, she had killed during the war, but she had her place and it was not on the frontlines like Harry and Ron and much of the rest of the order. She was researcher, knowledgeable pupil extraordinaire, not mindless, killing machine. She had seen the result of what happened during the war on their faces; a melancholy darkness in their eyes, a moment of hesitation before laughter. Time had done the remaining members of the Order well, with its passing and the oblivious, wizarding world free from Voldemort; wrinkles faded away, sallow skin became bright and healthy, and the once melancholy eyes now held a sparkle. They had come to terms with what they had done; it was for the greater good, a difficult and necessary action, but one they had been named heroes for.

The deatheaters had left her there while she sobbed for the death of a man she did not know, the man that she had killed. She sobbed for the guilt and the anger that although just murdering a man voluntarily, violently, with free will, and with wanting, still ran like a wide river through her being, strong and true. Her fingers still twitched with the feeling. They had left laughing; laughing with the same cackle of entertaining pity the man beneath her had slaughtered her friends and family with. He had broken her family, she had broken this man, and the deatheaters had broken her.

She felt strong, cold arms wrap around her waist and pull her away from the bleeding corpse. _No, they will not take me back to the fury room. I'm not going back there agai__n_, she thought. _No!_ She screamed, clawing at the pale skin on the arm wrapped around her, fighting her way out of his grasp, while dizziness overcame her. The man hissed in agony as blood began to collect on his hand. He dropped her then, cursing as he left, slamming the door behind him.

She sobbed uncontrollably, unable to move from the wood paneled floor. This was not the same room, she realized; this floor had dark wood instead of stone slate. She knew this wood. There was no dead body here in this room, no pool of blood seeping into the floor. She looked up, searching the room for its owner, who was not there. Either way she was at Hogwarts again. She didn't know how she got home, but she was safe. She was home. _Home sweet home. _


	3. Home Sweet Home

She sighed with relief and composed herself, the wreck that she was. She wiped away the tears and combed her fingers through her hair. The redness in her face and her bloodshot eyes could not be helped at the moment. Her stomach grumbled, her hunger could not be helped either. She lifted herself off the floor and placed herself into the comfy chair in Dumbledore's office to wait patiently for his return. She was getting sick and tired of waiting. The door suddenly opened followed by incoherent shouting. Dumbledore entered first followed by McGonagall, Pomfrey, and, surprisingly, Snape.

"_The child needs to be protected"_, McGonagall demanded.

"_Yes Minerva, I believe that is the one thing we all agree on_," replied Dumbledore.

They hadn't yet noticed her watching them from her perch. "_Hello child," _Dumbledore said, finally acknowledging her presence while Pomfrey rushed over to tend to the scraps on her hands and knees, "_feeling better?"_

"_I'm fine",_ she snarled back, remembering a similar phrase said in the fury room.

"_Very well",_ he replied, acknowledging her biting remark, retreating to sit behind his desk.

He paused, "_What happened?" _She turned her face away and closed her eyes. What would they think of her now? A common criminal? A killer? A murderer? One of the deatheaters themselves? No, this was not something she wanted to get into. Not now. Not ever if possible. It was a vain hope, but a hope none the less.

They waited in silence with no answer. "_In the morning then,"_ Dumbledore said understandingly. McGonagall moved to hover cautiously near Hermione in silent comfort, while Snape still hung at the edges of the room, sticking to the shadows with a particularly angry-looking grimace, clutching his arm. "_We're lucky we could get you out of there in time, unfortunately Professor Snape was injured in the process,"_ Dumbledore mentioned, noticing her attention was on Snape. At that, Snape left the room in a huff, slamming the door behind him.

"_Anyway",_ Dumbledore continued, unfazed by Snape's exit, "_you must be hungry. Professor McGonagall will escort you to the kitchens and then to your dormitories. I expect to see you here tomorrow morning." _

She nodded in agreement, McGonagall ushering her towards the door. "_Goodnight, Miss Granger, Dumbledore called from his seat." _It would be anything but a goodnight.

Hermione awoke to Crookshank's tail on her face. Her pet had missed her while she was away, but had certainly gotten used to Hermione's bed for his hourly catnaps. Regardless, Hermione had somehow managed to get a couple hours of sleep. When Crookshanks was not bothering her, she was brought back to the dungeon in her dreams, with the echo of cackling laughter and pooling of crimson blood. She half-heartedly pulled off the sheet, shocked by the cold and stumbled into the bathroom to take a shower. The warmth was welcomed compared to the naturally frigid temperature of the tower. She soon stepped out and toweled off, aware that her hair was still a frizzy mess without looking in the mirror. In the last year, she had learned to tame it, but today she was not in the mood to try to beat it into submission. She dressed quickly and efficiently into her robes.

She was ready. She didn't want to leave the brief comfort of predictability she found in her room, but she had to go; Dumbledore would be expecting her. _I can only hope I can get through the day without any distractions_, she thought as she descended the stairs.

"_Hey Hermione,"_ Ron chirped happily from the common room couch, efficiently dashing her hopes for the day, "_You almost missed breakfast." _Ron and Harry removed themselves from their lounging positions to stand beside her, unaware of her annoyance.

"_No, you guys go without me," _she replied, anything to get away from their too happy faces. She could just imagine how those faces would contort to disgust if they found out what she had done.

"_Okay, see you later." _She raced down the halls, forgetting for a moment she was that much closer to the thing she was running away from.


	4. Of meetings and escape

_Authors Note__ :I apologize for the wait for both the continuation of the story, as well as, the introduction of Snape into the story…tell me what you think…_

She stood pacing outside Dumbledore's office. Once she went in there was no going back and she really didn't feel quite ready to face that yet. She sighed, said the password and opened the door. _Great, no one's here, _she thought. She made herself comfortable on the winged back chair and yawned. If Dumbledore didn't get here soon she was going to fall asleep. She squirmed in her seat to keep herself awake.

"_Miss Granger", _she jumped up, startled at the baritone voice. Snape. "_I believe you are coming with me instead." _He swept out of the room, assuming she was supposed to follow; she broke into a jog to catch up with his long, brisk stride. This was not what she expected. She had expected Dumbledore's understanding, not Snape. _"This was already going to be difficult enough with Dumbledore, and now this wonderful new development with the snarky professor, bat of the dungeons, pain in my ass for all my school years trying to psychoanalyze me just is going to make my day."_, she thought bitterly.

He twisted down the hallways and opened a door she had not seen before. The room was warm, with a hearty fire blazing in the fireplace. A lush green carpet covered the stone floor that also lined the walls and ceiling. The fire had cast a glow over the chairs that sat around the fireplace, a table and the expanse of books that covered the western wall. Typically, she'd search through the collection, but as another wave of lethargy made its presence known the chair looked more enticing.

"_Sit,"_ he ordered as he waved her into the room. She took the seat that faced the door and stared at the fire, as he closed the door. "_If he thinks he is actually going to get anything out of me, then , obviously, he's huffed too many potion's fumes," _she laughed inwardly at her thoughts and concentrated on the dancing fire.

There was a tickling in the back of her mind; something didn't feel right, like an appointment she missed or a paper she forgot to hand in or…_"Girly, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."_

The memory snapped her back to the present as she pushed those thoughts behind the wall in her mind. She found it was a new addition to her subconscious, but a helpful one. Besides if she was to get through this interrogation with Snape, she was going to need all the mental power she had just to make him believe she wasn't lying to him. It was either that or have the Professor sort through your thoughts and there was no fucking way was she going to let that happen.

She found herself picking at the fabric on the chair. She stopped and looked up only to find two eyes staring back.

She had never really realized how dark they were, how brooding, how hypnotic, how _powerful_. She couldn't look away from them, he held her there in the chair without touching her at all. He spoke to her through those eyes. She could imagine him saying, _"Tell me, I want to know. I want to know you, what you feel, what you think. Tell me."_ Somehow the voice that spoke to her just did not match with the face she was staring at, the professional title that face held, or the personality that matched with both.

And he just stared back. She diverted her eyes, trying to find something in the room that did not remind her of the-night-she'd-rather-not-think-about, but could not focus on anything.

"_Miss Granger…" _he spoke irritably, trying to call her attention back to the present. She almost looked up, but that would have a mistake. Screw him being a skilled Legimens, or even her opening her mouth to tell him the whole story, he would have been able just to read it from her eyes; she wasn't really sure he didn't know some part of the story already.

_Shit,_ she was losing her nerve, couldn't let this happen. She stood, staring at the green carpet anywhere but at him._ This cannot be happening…I need to get out,_ she thought.

"_Goodbye, Professor Snape" _and walked as composed and collected as she could towards the door. It creaked as she shut it behind her, as soon as the door clicked in the lock she ran to the one place she hoped she wouldn't find judgement, pity, anger, disappointment, and whatever it was that unsettled her in the room with Snape. _"Anywhere else but here,"_ she thought. She ran to the library.

______________________________________________

Severus sat still and unmoving, gazing at the fire. What had she seen in it that unsettled her so much? He reviewed the session mentally. She had seemed surprised when he first acknowledged her in Dumbledore's office, but also calm and tired, as to be expected. It was only at the arrival in his personal library that she felt an unease, she tensed immediately after placing herself in that ugly abombination of a chair that some forgotten relative had given him years ago. He had specifically chosen this place for its books, he had always noticed she spent her free time in the library, he thought it would be easier to talk if she felt surrounded by something familiar. Not that he would be the one to start the conversation, if she wanted to talk, like the Headmaster said she wanted to (obviously he was wrong), then she would be the one to start the conversation and then she could blather on all she wanted to about subjects meaningless to him, like she often did in class. He had wasted all this time for not one word from her, he had risked his life to saved her from the clutches of whoever had kept her there and all he got was a scraped up bloody arm from her deathly sharp fingernails and a bruise from where she'd jabbed him in the ribs from rescuing her.

_But why her?,_ the question kept bubbling up in his mind. _Who was it that kidnapped her and why?_ He thought. He pushed away the nonsensical ponderings, frustrated that he had come up with no answers. Still, a small thought scratched at the back of his mind, _Why does it even matter anyway what is wrong with her? She is fine and back at Hogwarts safe and sound._ He turned back to grading the horrific papers of first years, and dared himself not to think of the answer to his question.


	5. Nightmare or Reality?

**Author's Note:**** Hope you guys like this chapter. I tried to finish it faster than the others due to the encouragement I received from Amon's Eve. So thanks a bunch! Enjoy!**

But Hermione was not fine. She had hid it well, yes, so well in fact that not even Harry, Ron or Ginny could tell, but, regardless, she was not fine. Oblivious as they were, they hadn't seen anything too different from any other day.

After they had come back from Quidditch practice, Hermione had strolled in from the library, carrying a couple of books, saying that she was tired and not to disturb her. They let her be, figuring that all that N.E.W.T. studying had to have caught up with her by now and she would just sleep off the anxiety, stress, and overload of information and then be back to her typical, bossy self.

But in fact, Hermione wasn't sure that she could ever go back to who she was. She first realized this when she sat down at her favorite study nook and took out her Arithmancy textbook and tried to read the next chapter. Yes, she understood the explanation of the historic beginnings of Arithmancy, yes, she understood the formulas, but she could not focus. The words flew by her vision at unnatural speeds, but she was not _interested_. The fact that she was not interested in a book or reading or studying, scared her half to death with the knowledge that something in her was just plain wrong.

So she decided sleep would be best. She had retreated to the common room only to find Harry, Ron, and Ginny talking strategy for next week's Quidditch match. She flung a simple greeting and a warning over her shoulder that she didn't want to be disturbed and went to her room, locking the door in the process.

She kicked off her shoes and flopped on top of the bed, and eventually crawled under the covers and settled into a deep sleep.

_Oh, how nice sleeping beauty is finally awake. _A crisp cool voice sounded over the edge of the bed, forcing her to wake further to see who was in her room. She froze suddenly, unwilling to open her eyes, paralyzed in fear, and remembered the events before her sleep…seeing Harry, Ron, and Ginny, her going up to her room and…_locking the door._

She flung her eyes open. Lucius sat in her red, weathered reading chair in the corner of the room. At her notice of his presence, he stood and paced over to the edge of the bed where Hermione lay frozen in fear. He grinned, _Miss me much? _He intoned as she scowled at him, filled with anxiety and doubt. She blinked, hoping that the nightmare would go away right before her eyes. He continued, _Oh, I hope you didn't think you get rid of me so quickly? Did you? And I did so love our little chat last time…_

She could not move. She could not breathe. She was not able to form a single coherent thought in her head and the fear induced adrenaline rushed through her veins leaving a cold chill in its wake. The ropes once again bound her wrists to the bed frame

"_Oh, come now, really? Was our little meeting last time so horrific? Honestly, I thought you quite enjoyed yourself last time…" _He mused aloud.

Hermione snapped angrily at the accusation and twisted her face into one of disgust and revulsion at his comment.

_Really? Is that how you feel? Because I have a memory that disagrees with you… _ He questioned as he focused his intense gaze on her, _Don't forget I was there, I watched you, I watched what you did. _He stood next to her now, his gaze trailing over her, _I watched as your breathing sped up and your pupils dilated._ He continued as his finger gently brushed down her arm. She shivered._ I watched as your eyes filled with your single-minded revenge, although misdirected, and I watched you relish in your victory. _He was inches away from her face now. His sneer turned up into a wicked smile._ So don't you dare deny to me that because on some level you enjoyed it. _His breath smelled of mint and tobacco.

She turned away from his descending kiss only to have him grab her chin and force his lips to hers. She lay frozen, unwilling to respond, with closed eyes and hate in her heart. And when he had finished demonstrating the powerful dominance that sickened her, he pulled away waiting for her eyes to open.

She waited for awhile, trying to settle the nerves that screamed for vengeance. _They will probably never go away… _she thought as she fought to quiet the raging fury that battled for control of the other rational half of her brain.

She slowly opened her eyes to find that the cold, calculating, lustful, steel gray eyes that quested down her body before were now replaced by the endlessly black, hypnotic eyes of another. And the once platinum blonde tresses were traded for a shorter style in ebony that hoped to cover the aquiline nose to big for its face.

Within seconds, recognition wrestled its way through her brain. She screamed.


	6. Last Hope

**Author's Note:**** It has been mentioned that last chapter was creepy. Yes I know it was creepy. It was meant to be creepy. I felt creepy writing it, but as a Creative Writing major the professors tell me to write about controversial things and not stick to the nice stuff, so I'm challenging myself here. In the future I will alert you for possible creepiness. Thank you for all your reviews, even the creepy ones…lol**

**On another Creepiness Note:**

**I figured as a SUPER DUPER creepiness treat I would tell my beloved audience about really creepy stories and music lyrics I have found that scarred by brain for life (Thanks to my professors who made the class read them, both the song lyrics and the story). I hate both of these SOOOO much because they are so disturbing, and they will definitely put last chapter's creepiness to shame…**

***Warning* SEVERE CREEPINESS FOR BOTH OF THESE BELOW! **

**-The short story "The Babysitter" by Robert Coover. **

**-The song "The End" by Blue October**

* * *

Harry heard her first. The shrill piercing sound had drifted down from the Head Girl's dorms to his attentive ears where he sat chatting with Ron and Ginny in the common room. He never thought he'd here that kind of scream again; a scream that only comes from knowing that your death is quickly approaching.

He did not hesitate. He did not wait for Ron or Ginny or for anyone else who was standing around wondering what the hell was happening. He did not go to alert his Head of House. But he did know his friend was in trouble. He did know that she needed him. And that was all he really needed to break her privacy and the locking charm on her door.

He pushed the door open and it made a sharp crack as it hit the wall, not that he noticed. He did, however, notice the metallic smell that hung in the air that made him afraid to flick the light switch on. _Oh, gods,_ he thought, _please let it not be blood. Please. Anything else. _He realized the fates had not granted him his request as he flicked on the light. Hermione lay still in the center of bed; the once white sheets tangled about her legs, arms and neck, while her head faced away from the door. She rose suddenly to look at him with new dark, hollow eyes, vaulting herself off the bed into his arms where they collapsed on the floor, her weeping while he tried to soothe her. _What's wrong? What happened?_, he questioned her, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing at the same time. That's when he saw them; the scratches. Deep, penetrating gashes that left uneven marks on her skin and leaked that crimson, warm, wetness that now stained the sheets, the wall above her headboard, her uniform, the carpet and now his clothes.

He urged her more fervently to tell him what was wrong and who did this to her, but she just sobbed harder and dug her nails further into her already bloodied skin, so he settled for holding her until Ginny and Ron made it up the stairs with McGonagall, or Dumbledore, or Pomfrey, hell at this point he would even take Snape; he just wanted someone who would be able to protect his friend from whatever she was running from.

_Albus, you cannot do this. The girl needs someone to be there, a familiar shoulder to cry on. She does not need to be taken away from what she knows. She needs the support of friends in her House._

_I understand this perfectly, Minerva._

_I don't think you do. Taking her away from her friends, the support system in her House could have devastating consequences. Events worse than what already has happened could take place and…_

_And he will be prepared to take care of them. I am certain you have not forgotten his expertise in this area of study. Besides they have fellow souls; both are dedicated to study and the pursuit of knowledge, perhaps this will help to ease the pain each of them suffers._

_This has little to do with his plight. He chose that path, she did not and she should not be made to suffer his ill mood constantly when she can be easily protected and watched here at Hogwarts without the reminder of what has happened._

_The only way she will be able to fight through this is through the company of someone who challenges her, and forces her to sort through those memories. He may be disagreeable, but he will not allow her to sweep a month of misplaced events and thoughts under the rug. They will do more harm than good that way. Her schooling is finished and she is at the top of her class, any other resources or information, I'm sure he will provide. She will be well taken care of and protected._

_But Albus…_

_Minerva, I don't think you understand. He is her last hope._


End file.
